


A birthday, or something like it.

by Ithika



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Gen, Pirates and feelings what are they
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 16:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13392048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithika/pseuds/Ithika
Summary: Early in his captaincy, Charles Vane attempts to find a moment of peace.One shot, complete.





	A birthday, or something like it.

There are not many places in Nassau where it can truly be said to be quiet. Always there is the din of crews, having returned from hunts both successful and less so, partaking raucously in the many pleasures of home. Even apart from this, the streets are filled with the hum of activity, punctuated from time to time with the cries of salesmen and women hawking their goods, the honks and brays of livestock. 

 

No, quiet was not an option, not down in the heart of Nassau town. But  _ solitude _ was something one could wrest for oneself, through the twin boons of reputation and respect. That and the selection of a place to sit surrounded on two sides by the faded stucco walls of Noonan’s Inn. The little round table with its surface scorched and pockmarked by years of use in this rough house of leisure had not been vacant when the captain had arrived, of course. The corner was a favourite among all the inn’s patrons for its modiocum of privacy, and the table was rarely if ever not in use. Captain Vane, though, had not needed to say a word to the men who had sequestered themselves there. “Pardon, Cap’n,” one of them had muttered hurriedly at his approach, nudging his far drunker compatriot in the ribs as he hurriedly collected his hat and drink, wanting no part of a table that the  _ Ranger _ ’s captain clearly wished to occupy alone. 

 

His reverie lasted for all of fifteen minutes before he was interrupted, a full tankard of ale slopping roughly across the table before a figure emerged through the cloud of tobacco smoke he’d accumulated. The wide brim of a singular, battered hat is the first thing he sees, and the glower the captain had worn relaxes into something far less hostile. “Should have known it was you,” he mutters, kicking the stool he’d rested his feet on over to his master-at-arms. 

 

Bonny only pushes the tankard further towards him, drinking from her own as she sits. Collecting his drink, Charles watches her over the rim of his own cup, wondering if he’d be getting an explanation as to why she was here. He expected not; the two of them rarely shared words, but rather silence. They were comfortable enough in quiet companionship -- and they both knew where to go should they feel the need for talk. It was rare for her to bring anything with her, though, on these moments when she sought him out. The battered steel is cellar-cool in his hand as he turns it idly, gaze returned to the comings and goings of the inn. 

 

“‘S been two years since you made captain.” Much like himself, Anne speaks low and quiet, yet her voice is easily heard over the indistinct raucous sounds of the establishment around them. He doesn’t hide his surprise as he turns to her, finding her keen blue eyes watching him from under the brim of her ever-present hat. That was a fact  _ he  _ had scarcely kept track of, and that she would remember it, let alone mark it, stirred something in his chest. A strange, light itch he didn’t have a name for.

 

“That what this is for?” He gestures with the cup, reaching it towards hers. She lifts her ale in kind, the two metal vessels clanking together softly as they touch before the two pirates drink. 

 

“Yeah,” Bonny mumbles before taking a pull, wiping her lip on her sleeve as she swallows. Now she pauses, as though searching to find the words to say what she meant. “I know you ain’t ever had a birthday,” she begins, and Charles freezes as that strange, warm feeling grows. “So I figure-- tch. Who cares when you were born? Making captain, keeping it, doing what you’ve done; that’s worth a drink.” 

 

The two are quiet for a while after that, drinking together in the closest approximation of silence that can be gotten in this place. For the first time, Vane is silent in large part because he doesn’t know what to say, or how to say it. 

 

In the end, as he reaches the end of his mug, he settles on something simple; he knew she’d appreciate that. “Thanks, Anne.” 


End file.
